


Home Is Where The Heart Is

by Sjazna



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Aveline's POV, F/M, Includes spoilers, Post-Game, general cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:05:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6937045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjazna/pseuds/Sjazna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, a soothing voice would hum Aveline back to sleep after her nightmares. With that voice gone, Aveline knows only one way to chase the shadows lingering in the back of her mind away: to return to the bureau and stay there for the night. Despite the lack of soothing hums, the bureau is as much — if not more — of a home than the mansion has become. </p>
<p>But is it really lacking, or is it just that Aveline has something yet to notice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Where The Heart Is

Aveline woke with a start, short on breath and eyes wide open, her entire body trembling. The faces and screams were already fading from her mind, but her chest still felt constricted and her throat was still clogged. Touching her cheeks her fingers caught the moist of fallen tears, and she was almost certain that the last scream she had heard was her own, waking herself up.  
  
Expecting rushed steps coming towards her room, followed by a worried but soothing voice comforting her and easing her out of her state of mind, the reality once again hit her with a force that almost had her start sobbing again. There were no comforting voice coming to her aid anymore, no gentle hands to brush over her back and arms and lull her back into the real world. At once the room felt even colder and she hugged herself tightly, holding back the sobs that had her chest tighten and her throat and eyes burn.  
  
Forcing herself to draw slow, deep breaths, she felt the burn subside little by little until she could blink away the remaining tears and ignore the last remnants of cold in her bones. It did not ease her chaotic thoughts, however, and she knew only one remedy.  
  
The haste with which she left the bed almost had her stumble on the first step, still half drowsy from her recent sleep. A low hiss slipped over her lips from feeling the cold floor against her bare feet, but nothing detered her from getting dressed: her fingers nimbly working around the many clasps and strings and buttons without thought or hesitation — it was second nature.  
  
It was long ago that she lost count on the number of times she had put on her current outfit.  
  
Stepping out on the roof outside her window chased away the last remnants of sleep from her mind — a cool breeze whisking at her hair and spurred her to move forward. Her body fell into routine without coaxing or thought: one foot in front of the other, a miniscule adjustment of her hips, chest or legs and she darted around chimneys, across the gaps between houses, speeding over the roof tops just like a playful child would run along the streets below her.  
  
It was a toxin: a sweet toxin of adrenaline, the kick of knowing that one faulty step could send her to a fall that might result in severe injuries or even death. The thrill was as needed as it was dangerous — it sharpened her mind and heightened her senses, making her see every crevice, every wobbly board, every rope, every slippery spot. She had to, or that fall would claim her. The knowledge should make her slow down, she knew that, but now she merely pushed forward, craving the alertness and the shift in focus. Goal in mind, fine, but the road there served well as a mean to forget the chill in her bones and the faces lurking behind her cornea.  
  
Which of course meant that it was much too soon that she landed on top of the roof of the bureau, sighing to herself as she silently lowered herself onto the porch and headed inside, wanting the bed that they had installed for days when she had to take a quick nap and could not do so at home. She had not had to use it lately — she did not want to remember why — but there were those nights... The nights with nightmares, when she had to flee the house. Those nights when the bureau was the only place where she felt safe enough to return to some kind of slumber, gaining a few previous hours of rest.  
  
Letting out a yawn she removed her hat, throwing it onto the hat rack and settled with giving it a foul glare when it fell off and landed next to it instead. Shaking her head she turned to remove some of the more unnecessary garments, knowing that there were no reason for her to lie fully dressed in her assassin gear and be annoyed by chafing weapons or — God forbid — prick herself on her own poison darts.  
  
She had only been lucky that Gérald had been there to sort it out when she had last done that.  
  
”Hello?”  
  
Eyes widening in an instant and gun in hand before she knew it, she spun around, aiming at the sound. To have let someone sneak up on her from behind? It was a novice mistake, and no one would get enough time to live and tell the tale.  
  
The very next second she cussed at herself.  
  
Hands halfway up into the air, Gérald stared at her from the doorway, frozen in place with his entire attention on the muzzle of the contraption in her hand.  
  
She lowered it quickly, trying to ignore the shame she felt for having made yet another novice mistake and not recognised Gérald's voice at once.  
  
” _Mon Dieu_ , Gérald,” she mumbled, trying to smooth over the incident. ”I'm sorry, I did not see you there.”  
  
”I just got in, and—” He paused himself, blinking as he took a step forward: ”You came back? Aveline, is something wrong?”  
  
His voice, ever so gentle and caring, brought a faint smile to her lips despite how she was far from wanting to do so.  
  
How was it that she always forgot that Gérald had that effect on her?  
  
” _Non_ , I am alright, I was just-” Pausing herself, she drew a deep breath and pressed the palm of her hand to her eyes. The burn of previous tears lingered behind them. ”I could not sleep in that house.”  
  
”Of course.”  
  
Gérald, ever the gentleman, asked no further questions — and Aveline could not have been more grateful.  
  
Or so she thought, until she heard a clatter of the writing pad being put down hastily, and then rushed steps heading her way, followed by his hands carefully resting underneath her elbow and around her waist. The touch was ever so light, but supportive, and she had not known how much she needed it until it was already there.  
  
”You are pale as a ghost, Aveline,” Gérald mumbled with great concern beside her, and helped her over to the bed. ”I worry about you.”  
  
”There is no need, Gérald, it was just a nightmare.”  
  
Aveline tried her hardest not to let it slip through voice or manners how affected she had truly been. How it had been merely one in a series of sleepless nights, of twisting and turning in her bed. Or how the hardest bit — the one that had affected her the most — was not the nightmare, but the loneliness afterwards. The lack of steps, of a hushed voice speaking soft words, lulling her back into the real world.  
  
A world no less frightening, but far easier to handle.  
  
”You need to rest,” Gérald spoke softly, giving her elbow a gentle squeeze before letting it go entirely.  
  
The wave of instinctual and overwhelming terror that replaced his touch shocked even her, and when she shot out and grabbed his arm to catch his attention it was not a conscious decision.  
  
Even so she held his gaze and blurted out:  
  
”Stay with me? Until I fall asleep?”  
  
The surprise on Gérald's face spoke a language of its own, and it was only due to months and years of working close to the man that Aveline's resolve stayed strong enough for her to not withdraw and apologise. She trusted Gérald.  
  
If she could not trust Gérald, then she would truly be alone.  
  
Staring at his face as she were, the shifts in his expression became almost like a painting: she saw how the lines of his features shifted, his thoughts racing behind his eyes, slowly slotting into place and it all softened back into the caring, considerate man that she had since long learned to treasure greatly. The tense muscles in his arm loosened under her hand as he turned back to her, placing his free hand over hers, hugging it.  
  
”Of course.”  
  
The words brought relief that she had not known she needed: her shoulders slumped, her neck relaxed, and throughout her body tensed muscles loosened up slightly, allowing grace and movement to return to her limbs.  
  
She could have kissed him.  
  
Drawing a breath, she reluctantly loosened her grip around his arm, to instead pull her boots off and lie down under the covers. While it spelled disaster — if nothing else due to the heat — she needed the feeling of being covered, the pretence of a cocoon.  
  
As soon as she had settled in, however, her eyes were drawn to Gérald again, seeking confirmation on that he was there — that he was staying. Seeing him have moved a chair to the side of the bed, sitting down on it with the same soft expression as before, she smiled faintly and allowed herself to take some deeper, slower breaths, confident that he would be there.  
  
The bed had only a portion of the comfort that the one in the mansion held, and the room little of the beauty of her bedroom, but it held warmth. It held safety, in more ways than that it was defendable against attacks and break-ins. Aveline did not know how or why it was, but she was certain that this was her home more than the mansion would ever be again. This bureau, with its nooks and crooks and dust and memories — and Gérald.  
  
Always Gérald.  
  
A soft hum trailed its way to her ears, making her smile faintly. It continued into a string of words, a melodic tune, soothing her whirling thoughts and wrapped her earlier terrors in a blanket, fogging them from sight. A lullaby, lulling her into trusting the velvet darkness again.  
  
Opening her eyes just slightly, she watched Gérald, a book on his lap that had drawn his gaze, but his lips moving to the words of the lullaby, shaping them with the same care as he shaped the numbers in their lodgers. His fingers rested over the pages of the book, and for a moment she got lost in observing them. The nails and nailbeds, the long, slender fingers, the shifts in pigmentation, the skin as it crossed from his fingers to the back of his hands. The scar she had once caused through an unlucky accident including a sharp blade. The slim wrists, the slight bump of his wrist bone, the lace of his shirt resting against the skin.  
  
Trailing upwards with her gaze towards his face anew, she could not help but smile.  
  
”I did not know that you could sing, Gérald,” she mumbled, watching in delight as a faint band of red spread on his cheeks, the song gingerly coming to an end.  
  
”I can stop, if it bothers you?” he said, eyes wavering slightly, making her smile anew.  
  
”It is beautiful,” she reassured him on yet another mumble. ”Please, do not stop.”  
  
His responding smile was enough for her to feel her own cheeks become a tad bit warmer, although she decidedly told herself that it was due to the duvet in combination with her remaining outfit.  
  
As Gérald slowly returned to humming, then singing lowly, Aveline allowed her eyes to close and merely listened. Letting the words and tunes lull her deeper, until her breaths slowed and deepened on their own, she finally let go of the last sliver of caution and fear.  
  
Within moments, to the tunes of Gérald's gentle lullaby, Aveline returned into slumber — this time without dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a prompt from [TotallyFrandom](http://totallyfrandom.tumblr.com) on the sentences "You came back" & "I did not know you could sing", and I want to thank her for giving me this prompt, as it was real fun to write! Aveline and Gérald are both rather dear to me, as is their interaction, so it is always nice to get to explore their dynamics and relationship closer.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


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